


Dahlia Evans

by Ideasofmarch



Series: Plot ideas i may or may not expand upon ;) [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempt at Humor, F/F, F/M, Hogwarts, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Reincarnation, original character is lily's sister, the youngest Evans girl, vaguely cracky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27602831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ideasofmarch/pseuds/Ideasofmarch
Summary: People live, and then they die.Souls move on, and then they forget.Or they don't.-Dahlia Evans: the youngest of the Evans girls, somehow managing to oust her wild red-headed sister for the title of 'most peculiar', a witch, and a reincarnated soul to boot.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Mr Evans/Mrs Evans (Harry Potter), that's all im sure about rn
Series: Plot ideas i may or may not expand upon ;) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733980
Comments: 36
Kudos: 96
Collections: Harriet Skips Town Inc





	1. Cause Life is short but death is super long. (Wait no reverse that)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey loves,  
> This is one of those ideas that wouldn't leave me alone so I just wrote out the first chapter of it. We'll see if i have time to add on.  
> enjoy!!
> 
> IdeasOfMarch

Death was not such a terrifying concept as so many made it out to be.

At least, not to the dead. 

On the other side, for that is what Dahlia had taken to calling it - for the sake of her dwindling sanity, if nothing else - everything was muted. They had no bodies, simply vague impressions of things that once were. She’d noticed that first: the lack of a physical form.

There was no liminal period after death. 

She was alive, then she wasn’t. 

And then she noticed that she couldn’t feel her fingers, or her toes. She opened her mouth to scream and found that the action was impossible. She hadn’t the mouth to open, nor the lungs to scream with. Later, she would lament that there hadn’t even been air for her to draw into those hypothetical lungs - and nothing to carry the sound nor the ears to hear it.

After the initial panic had abated, and Dahlia couldn’t possibly account for how long that had lasted, things settled. She could not see, and even if she could there was nothing  _ to _ see, but in death she was granted awareness.

She could sense other souls. She knew them as they knew her: completely and not at all. There was nothing to hide in death. They didn’t move closer, but neither did they move away. There was no agency, not here.

Souls were patient. They could wait an eternity, if need be.

Dahlia didn’t know how long she waited, nor did she know what she waited  _ for _ . Her essence stayed and moved and languished in it’s place. An eternity passed, and Dahlia found that she did not forget. The others, slowly but surely forgot themselves; dissolving into the nothing as they did. 

Dahlia held on.

To her left, something that had once been a woman - Lauren, Dahlia knew her name, she knew everything about her, but she could not imagine her face - held on as well. Lauren had existed long before Dahlia arrived here.

Time crawled on, souls forgot, and those who remembered, waited.

“Come.” A voice called, it was booming and a whisper all at once, Dahlia would have startled if she still had the capacity to do so, “you are not finished.”

_ Where are we going?  _ Some part of her that was still glaringly human wanted to ask, but it had been so long she’d forgotten how.

The voice, it seemed, heard her anyway. 

“Somewhere else.”

_ Where? _

It did not answer her this time and Dahlia wondered if it was ignoring her or if she’d even asked in the first place.

The voice, it was more than a voice, but she hadn’t the words to describe what it really was, gripped her tightly. With every moment that passed, Dahlia felt more and more like she was waking up - like the fuzziness and nothingness that she hadn’t even noticed was finally draining out of her.

“This doesn’t happen often.” The voice muttered, they were still going somewhere - not forward or backwards but  _ through _ , “We are almost there.”

Dahlia suddenly remembered that first moment in that place of nothing, she’d wanted to scream then. She wanted to again.

_ Where? Where are we going? _

Neither the voice nor Dahlia had a face to look at, yet she felt its stare. They had stopped and she knew it was a threshold. They were in the right before, the almost. She could feel herself being pulled in every direction: towards the after, back to before, and someplace else too - but the voice held her tight.

“Remember this, childe. You owe nothing to this world, you have no master. This is a gift, given freely, do with it what you will.”

_ What does that mean? What does any of this mean? _ She asked and she knew this time that the voice heard her.

“It means nothing,” The voice said, “and it means everything. Some are done, and so they stay, they forget. You are not. There is no reason, there only is.”

And the voice let go, the pull of before and after and elsewhere grappled for control. A moment or an eternity passed.

Dahlia moved forward.

-

“Congratulations! It’s a healthy baby girl.”

-

Dahlia Jane Evans was born on the fifth of may, 1962 at 7:37 p.m. She weighed 3.6 kilograms and the first thing she ever did in this world was open her little mouth and  _ scream _ .

-

When Daisy Evans received news that she was pregnant with her third child, she was ecstatic. After Lily, the doctors had informed her that she’d likely never conceive again; a complication in the birth, they’d said. 

Both John and her had been absolutely distraught, they’d once dreamed of a large family and, one day maybe, a small army of grandchildren. 

It had made them lax in their contraceptive methods.

Two years after Lily was born, they learned the consequence of that.

It had not been an easy pregnancy, Daisy was on permanent bed rest by the second trimester, and her hormones were hell on both her health and John’s patience. Petunia, lovely girl that she was, doted on her pregnant mother - of course, she was only four, her definition of doting was essentially bringing her mother whatever food she requested from the pantry.

When it came time to push the child out of her womb, Daisy couldn’t have been happier. 

And, it seemed, after nine months of torture and fourteen hours of labour, the universe had dighned to give her some semblance of a respite. 

Aside from the initial shrieking, Dahlia was the easiest baby Daisy had ever handled. In the months following her birth she proved to be nowhere near as particular as her oldest sister and far less messy than her other one. The little girl slept through the night and took her bottle without fuss, and when she wanted something, she quickly learned an efficient way to communicate it to them.

A pat of her tummy meant she was hungry.

Tugging the fabric at her knees meant she needed to be changed.

Clutching fingers at the air meant she wanted snuggles.

An easy baby.

All things considered.

-

Dahlia had debated pretending to be an average baby for all of one week.

She’d been weak then, worn down from the exertion of being born and acclimating to the land of the living once again. Her new mother held her often, she was safe and warm and Dahlia found she liked being held. 

_ It wouldn’t be so bad _ , she had thought,  _ to stay like this for a while. _

But she had been in the nothing for too long, and though she’d never forgotten herself, she had almost forgotten how  _ much _ there was in life.

And god, she was  _ bored _ .

She’d had to retrain herself in the art of talking. Which, by the way, was incredibly frustrating. The action, from before, had been autonomous - something she didn’t consciously think about and, as such, couldn’t quite remember how to do again. 

Until she’d grasped it, she used simple signals to get what she needed.

It didn’t stop her feeling like a failure when the best she could do was babble nonsense, but at least she was babbling nonsense in shit-free diapers.

Her parents, on the other hand, practically lost their mind when she cood for the first time. Was three weeks a little soon to begin making sounds? Dahlia hadn’t the faintest clue. 

In her first life she’d never had much experience with kids. Two mothers and a sister less than a year younger than her. Melanie - that was her name - she’d never had kids. At least, not before Dahlia kicked the bucket. 

She was not at all familiar with the progressional development of children. And, based on the wide eyed awe as she took her first stumbling steps at four months old, it showed.

Unlike most of her other skills, thankfully, reading was not something that she needed to relearn. 

She’d suffered through three months worth of being ‘taught’ with picture books and flashcards before demanding, with all the authority of a two year old, that she be given actual reading material.

Her mother, all too used to her youngest, and strangest, child had simply rolled her eyes and leaned a hardback novel against a pile of other books so that Dahlia could easily flip the pages herself before turning back to Lily and Petunia, the latter of which was just managing to grasp the concept of sentences. 

Later that night, John Evans returned home to find both Lily and Petunia passed out on the couch, his wife humming to herself in the kitchen, and his youngest daughter thoroughly engrossed in ‘The portrait of a lady.’

To his credit, he paused for all of a moment before dropping a kiss on Dahlia's brown curls and saved his mental breakdown for the kitchen.

“Did I just see -”

“Yes.”

“She’s  _ two _ .”

“I know.”

“How is that  _ possible _ ?”

Daisy Evans simply shrugged. It had been a long time since she’d stopped questioning the strange genius of their youngest and she wasn’t about to start now.

Dahlia, for her part, finished seven more books in the span of just as many months. 

It was, by far, the most interesting activity she’d found herself capable of, what with the lack of muscle mass and all. Soon, she’d build up her strength enough to run around the house, maybe even the garden for a little bit, but right now sitting upright took just about all the energy she had.

So reading it was.

-

By the time she was eight, Dahlia had long surpassed both her sisters academically. 

This year she’d, technically, be starting her last year of secondary school. Her peers, because none of them could be called anything so personal as friends, tolerated her. They had long since come to the understanding that messing with Dahlia Evans simply was not worth the headache that followed, a policy of mutual destruction, if you will.

Most people seemed rather perplexed, occasionally amazed, at the sight of little Dahlia Evans attending GCSE lessons - and it didn’t help that she was currently stuck looking like a rosy cheeked school girl rather than the formidable lawyer she’d once been.

But Dahlia persevered.

During lunch times, this year at least, Petunia was delighted to finally be able to hang out with  _ one _ of her sisters at school - even if it wasn’t the sister she’d initially expected. 

Dahlia was pleasantly surprised when Petunia scowled and fought off every passive aggressive comment that her peers shot her way. It didn’t necessarily do much - Petunia was currently pint sized and Dahlia was technically a thirty-nine year old woman - but it was the thought that counted.

She knew, and she suspected her mother knew as well, that Dahlia could have sat her GCSE’s and her A levels right that second and have passed with flying colours. But her father just insisted that she have  _ some _ semblance of socialisation, allowing her to skip forward so many years was already pushing it.

Despite his wishes, Dahlia’s only friends remained her sister and the fourty year old librarian.

Life continued on.

Dahlia paid the bare minimum of attention in class, instead focusing the brunt of her attention on studying for university - fully intending to earn her PhD, she’d been up to her shoulders writing her thesis before her untimely demise, and she’d be damned (again) if she didn’t get it this go around. Her teachers, well aware that she probably surpassed them in the knowledge department, were content to let her do as she pleased so long as she maintained her excellent test scores.

In her first life, Dahlia had tested well above average on every IQ test she’d ever taken. Nothing so amazing as a genius, but certainly clever with enough perseverance to study her way to the top. Now she had a thirty year head start on her peers, and Dahlia would be damned if she let that go to waste.

Petunia, spending proper time with her youngest sister for the first time in probably their entire lives, found that she actually quite enjoyed her company. Dahlia, surprisingly, shared the sentiment.

It was difficult, as a reincarnated soul, to find people that weren’t terribly exhausting.

Dahlia had been thirty-one, in her last life, when death had taken her. A drunk driver slamming into her stationary vehicle. She’d just pulled over for a smoke break, a long day at the firm and a bloody long conversation with a difficult client had her itching for a cigarette. The crash had been quick and brutal, one moment she’d been blowing smoke out her mouth, the next she was lying sideways in her wrecked car.

It had taken three hours, give or take, for Dahlia Aster to succumb to her injuries. 

She remembered every excruciating moment.

Eight years, and however long she’d stayed in the land of the dead, later she was still valiantly pretending that she was over it.

One didn’t just _get_ _over_ dying.

But it was the seventies, and therapy was still oh so stigmatized. Let alone getting therapy for the recurring nightmares of her own death that would only happen in about sixty years, give or take. She might as well just check herself into the loony bin and save them the trouble.

She coped as best she could. 

Reading every book in the library about dealing with grief and PTSD and anything else that seemed helpful. She taught herself breathing exercises and mental routines and threw herself into studying so as to maybe distract herself from the fact that she’d never see her mothers or her sister ever again.

And it was fine, mostly. She had a new mother and a father and two new sisters who all loved her just as much as she loved them. And it was fine.

_ She _ was fine.

-

Dahlia was nine and she was arguing with her father.

She wanted to fast track her A levels, skip as far ahead as she could in university and be done with it all as soon as possible. He was adamant that she’d skipped far enough already. They’d had this argument a thousand and one times already, both sides having run out of valid points and regressing to a pure battle of wills.

Unsurprisingly, it was a bitter stalemate. 

“But  _ dad _ -”

“No! I will not hear it, I -”

And then an owl flew in through their kitchen window.

Because Dahlia was nine, which meant Lily was eleven and oh  _ god _ .

Her father blinked at the owl, confused beyond belief. Dahlia was frozen in shock. 

Somehow, despite all evidence, she’d only just realised which family, exactly, she’d been born into. 

Lily Evans, the future lady Potter. Petunia Evans, the future Mrs Dursley. Dahlia Evans, who shouldn’t ever have existed in the first place.

Reincarnation was one thing - a thing that Dahlia was  _ still _ coming to terms with, mind.

Being reincarnated into a fictional bloody universe as the non-existent sister of a central character was, quite frankly, the last straw.

“- A witch! Daisy, come here!” Her father was saying. He had an open letter in hand and his glasses pushed up to his head. Dahlia wanted to scream.

“What is it John? Is that an  _ owl _ ?”

How had she missed this? Granted, she didn’t exactly spend a whole lot of time with Lily. Of her two sisters, Dahlia had always gotten along better with Petunia, her youngest older sister just had too much energy for Dahlia to really stomach for extended periods of time. But still, how the hell hadn’t she connected the dots?

Willful ignorance? Denial? Pure obliviousness? 

_ Maybe her future nephew would inherit that particular trait from Dahlia _ , she thought, slightly hysterical.

There was a knock on the door.

“Dahlia, go open the door.” John said offhandedly, still reading the letter with Daisy leaning over his shoulder so that she could read it too.

Dahlia, still very much out of it, compiled without thought.

A woman, prim and proper as you please in a black dress suit, smiled passively down at her.

“Hello.” Her Scottish accent was heavy, Dahlia felt as if she might pass out, “Is this the Evans household?”

  
  
  



	2. Well, if crazy equals genius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two years between finding out magic was real and getting to go to a magical school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really enjoy writing this. Great way to pretend I don't have my end of term tests next week :')  
> This chapter is essentially Dahlia having a few mental breakdowns, rationalising shit, and then what she did for those two years she had to wait to go to hogwarts. She's nine (or 40 mentally) at the start of the chapter, and nearing eleven by the end.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> Love,  
> IdeasOfMarch

Dahlia dealt with Lily going to Hogwarts - yes,  _ that _ Hogwarts, school of magic and broomsticks and various other things that really shouldn’t be possible - about as well as can be expected.

Meaning she had a complete and total mental breakdown.

Her parents, for the life of them, could not figure out what was wrong. Lily had handled the news with the delighted air of a little girl finding out all her dreams were coming true - even Petunia had only been shocked for a moment, before settling into a slightly bitter attitude that Dahlia made a note to address before it turned to hatred. With Dahlia though…

She’d been silent as the grave through Mcgonagall's entire introduction to the magical world, silent as she explained accidental magic, and Hogwarts, and the statute of secrecy. She’d stayed silent until she was safely tucked away in her own room, where she promptly lost her shit.

Because reincarnation was one thing.

Dahlia had done her research. Hundreds of cultures all over the globe spoke of it, albeit she didn’t think any of them were particularly accurate to her experience but still - this kind of thing happened. It wasn’t  _ unheard _ of. 

Sure, most dismissed claims of reincarnation but Dahlia, above all else, trusted herself. She had memories that, technically, dated forward about twenty years. She remembered a future, an entire career and another family. Any possible chance that she simply had an overactive imagination was swiftly explained away by her aptitude for skills she never had to learn.

Over the course of her, admittedly short, second life, Dahlia had come to terms with her existence. 

But Hogwarts.

_ Hogwarts _ .

The magical school with the magical people and just - just the  _ magic _ of it all.

Fuck if it wasn’t enough to break her - just a little.

God - Gods? Dahlia didn’t know. If witches were real did that mean paganism was one true religion or? - Dahlia hadn’t read those books in  _ years,  _ even before her untimely demise via a wrecked car. She’d watched one of the movies, though. The third one. HBO was having a marathon and her sister had goaded her into it.

That had been a week before -

In any case. People had been reincarnated before, Dahlia just wasn’t quite so sure anyone had ever been in her situation.

-

Fuck.

-

“Dahlia, honey.” Her mother’s voice floated up the staircase, “Are you - are you  _ sure _ you’re going to be okay at home for the day?”

Dahlia nodded easily, waving the rest of her family out the door with an exasperated sigh. Lily, from what she could see, was practically bouncing in the family car, annoying the ever living shit out of Petunia. John and Daisy were lingering.

“I’ll be  _ fine _ .”

“I just don’t understand,” Her father sighed, Dahlia resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. She loved him, really she did. But her father had never understood her - she had always just been three throws too far from normal for him to ever  _ get _ her. 

“I’ve told you dad, I’ll see it all in two years, I’m really in no rush. And I have things to do.”

Dahlia did not elaborate further. He looked like he wanted to press her for more information, it was a familiar expression. She didn’t elaborate on a lot of things.

“How do you even know you’re a witch?”

Because it seemed rather ridiculous for her soul to be sent into a bloody alternate dimension where magic was real by some eldritch entity and then _not_ _give_ _her_ _the magic_. 

Instead she said, “I’ve never gotten sick in my entire life and the last time I scraped my knees it was healed within the hour.” Dahlia shrugged, “I thought it was good genes, this is the more plausible explanation.”

“I - okay Dahlia.” John sighed again, moving towards the car. Daisy paused briefly, kissing Dahlia once on either cheek and then once on her forehead.

“Bye mum.” Dahlia called out and smiled, a little lopsided at her mum as she waved once more through the car window. She watched the car drive all the way down the road before she let her smile drop.

Great.

They’d be gone all day, probably. Exploring Diagon Alley and what not. Dahlia sighed, a bit wistful. She’d  _ wanted _ to go too. The part of her that was completely and wholly Dahlia Evans, a nine year old little girl, couldn’t wait to enter the magical world. She’d always liked fantasy books, in either life. She liked the escape, the possibilities. 

And now it was her reality.

In two years, she would join her sister at Hogwarts, at which point she planned to severely fuck up the time-line. Her sister wouldn’t be dying in her twenties this time around, not If Dahlia had anything to bloody well say about it.

But if she was going to do that she needed this.

Needed a day, at least, to process the curveball life had slung her way.

Dahlia made her way upstairs.

Her parents had been leaving her alone at home for two years at this point. Occasionally Petunia, Lily, or the both of them stayed back from whatever excursion Dahlia hadn’t wanted to go on - but for the most part she’d been trusted not to burn the house down if her parents indulged in her introverted tendencies.

And it wasn’t also that Dahlia didn’t  _ like _ spending time with her family. But she had bad days. Days where she had to walk herself through a panic attack because the car’s engine oil smelt a little too strong - where she had to pretend she was fine; simply not feeling like going to the cinema tonight, actually. 

Whatever the matter, the case was that she’d garnered a habit of spending extended unexplained alone time locked in her room. Her dad put up a token protest everytime, but Dahlia remained unimpressed by his attempts to get her to explain herself.

In her room, Dahlia dug through her pile of notebooks. She’d amassed quite the collection, though she had only written in a select few. It was a habit she’d carried over from her time as Dahlia Aster - snatching up and hoarding every aesthetically pleasing notebook she came across.

From the stack, she picked out an old leather bound journal she’d found at a vintage antique shop some time last year.

The entire book was only about as large as her hand, if a little bigger, but it was at least five hundred pages thick. Plus, it had that old-school feel to it. 

Yes, this would do quite nicely.

She grabbed a pen, mentally noting that she’d have to steal one of Lily’s quills to practice her handwriting, and settled into her desk chair. Right, first things first: horcruxes.

Dahlia remembered enough to know that those were not good news.

  * _The journal, malfoy manor (probably? Maybe in a few years?)_


  * The ring, gaunt house (little Winning? Whining? Get map later)


  * The cup, lestrange vault (check when bella marries lestrange)


  * The locket, zombie lake (do not attempt without backup, try not to let baby black die)


  * The crown (circlet? Diadem?), Hogwarts.


  * Snake, (probably not an issue yet.)


  * Harry (will never be an issue.)



Dahlia tapped the pen to her chin. 

Now, What to do with this information?

_ Option 1: Go to dumbledore. Powerful leader of the light side, might be beneficial? He could offer protection? Cons: his protection killed Lily last time so… plus, the old man plays chess with his people - very manipulative (opinion might be clouded by fan theories, keep an open mind. Observe first) _

_Option 2: Do it alone, try to get as many horcruxes as possible, destroy asap. Cons: I am a_ _muggleborn_ _girl_ _in the_ _seventies_ _, no access to vaults or extra money or parseltongue to get the basilisk venom. Shit. I also do not have that sword._

_ Option 3: Make friends with the marauders, get their help. Cons: They’ve already got a future traitor among them. I am two years younger and also the sister of one of their classmates, not cool enough to hang out with. (Make myself interesting? Might draw unwanted attention.) _

_ Option 4: Join the dark side. Cons: I am not an idiot. _

Dahlia pulled away from the paper with a sigh. None of the options were particularly favourable, in fact, each and every plan had its own unique,  _ significant _ drawbacks. She wasn’t powerful enough, or she didn’t have the connections, or the talent or -

Wait.

She had two years until Hogwarts. Two years before any of this became a relevant issue, another seven years at least before the war became a real problem. She had time, a lot of it too, and it certainly wouldn’t hurt to explore this whole magic thing while she waited. Dahlia hummed to herself, lifting her right hand to eye level and staring at it, pondering.

Accidental magic was a thing, it happened regularly, to every single baby with a magical core - as Mcgonagall had informed them. And what was accidental magic if not wandless, instinctual magic. Magic that anticipated your needs irrespective of a bunch of latin uttered beforehand.

_ Fire _ , Dahlia thought, cupping her palm in front of her,  _ spark, burn, fire _ .

A lick of flame sputtered to life in her hand.

Her elation, however, was short lived. No sooner did she call the flame to her hand did it sputter out. She frowned, concentrating again and pushing that thing inside of her she’d always assumed was her soul out towards her fingertips,  _ fire _ .

For a moment, nothing.

Then -

This time, when the flame leaped up it was hotter, brighter. So bright she had to look away, and in the process break her control on the flames. Without her feeding it, the fire lingered for little more than a second before disappearing, leaving behind nothing but warm air and a blistered hand.

It was almost funny, how Dahlia hadn’t felt the pain until she’d caught sight of her red, peeling skin.

It was a good thing her parents weren’t home, a good thing that the neighbours weren’t nosy too. Because Dahlia shrieked something fierce before she got herself under control. It took a minute, maybe two. A few breathing exercises and some tears hastily wiped away by her left hand, to get her to the point where she felt calm enough to grab at that energy inside her again.

It didn’t come as readily to her this time.

Almost as if it was scared of her or - no, scared to  _ hurt _ her. 

Dahlia huffed a laugh, “You won’t hurt me,” She murmured to herself, to her  _ magic _ , not feeling insane at all, “Not on purpose, anyway” The energy surged, just a bit. Like a shy kitten checking to see that you wouldn’t pull the yarn out from under her, “You  _ are _ me, I think. Or, a part of me?”

Dahlia reached inside of herself again. It felt a little bit like holding her core, like her gym instructor used to tell her to do during ab sets, but deeper somehow. The magic flowed this time, back into her fingertips.

This time, Dahlia thought,  _ heal _ .

The blisters faded in an instant, leaving fresh, tender skin behind. Dahlia blinked, a slow grin spreading across her features.

“Thank you.”

-

_ Note to self: my magic is definitely at least semi-sentient. Not mentioned in harry potter books. Research more on this in the future. _

-

_ Note to self: my magic gets exhausted after roughly thirteen minutes of continuous work. keep track of improvements or diminishment in the duration of continuous effort. _

-

Lily went off to Hogwarts.

Dahlia and Petunia were left behind to continue their plain old muggle studies.

John and Daisy tried very hard to maintain an air of normalcy around the house.

It didn’t work, obviously.

Lily sent owls weekly - the ever changing cycle of birds fluttering through the open kitchen window with letters strapped onto their legs, pilfering the Evans bacon supply while they waited for a return letter to be written, didn’t exactly lend itself to regularity.

Dahlia found herself trying not to cringe every time Petunia scowled at the sight of the birds. She pretended not to catch the worried glances her parents kept sending her oldest sister, maintained a neutral face when sometimes she’d catch Petunia looking at  _ her _ with that same scowl.

It hurt something fierce that Petunia wasn’t speaking to her anymore - she hadn’t even said a full sentence to Dahlia since Lily boarded the train. Petunia had always been her favorite older sister. They’d never really gone more than a day without sitting together, legs tangled under a blanket as they read their respective books - alone, together.

Petunia used to come to her when Lily and her friend - Snape, she’d realised with a hefty amount of shock when Lily brought him around the house for the first time a couple of weeks ago - would make fun of her.

But now…

Petunia wouldn’t sit down if Dahlia got to the couch first, and she’d just walk right out of the room if Dahlia tried to sit down next to her. Dahlia sat alone at lunch breaks, pouring over her journal and research, trying to get as much done as she could before leaving for the magical world - trying to pretend she wasn’t missing the white noise of Petunia’s scathing remarks about the general student body.

She hadn’t thought it would be like this. She thought she’d be able to bring Petunia around. She was nearly forty (mentally), she  _ should _ have been able to reason with a thirteen year old girl.

But it just - Petunia wasn’t  _ listening _ to reason. Logic and explanation was not working, the other girl just didn’t care for it, apparently. So Dahlia decided to switch tactics.

“Petunia?” Dahlia felt every inch the nine year old girl everyone believed her to be as she stood in the doorway to the living room, a thick book in one hand, the other fiddling with the hems of her sweater.

Her sister looked up at her from her position on the couch. Dahlia allowed herself to flinch at the annoyance in that gaze.

Petunia twitched, a half aborted movement that looked as if she’d wanted to get up and leave, but changed her mind halfway through.

“What?”

“I -” Dahlia mumbled and god  _ damnit _ . She’d planned this out, she knew what she wanted to say. She needed to convince Petunia that she was her sister, no matter what. She needed Petunia to know she still loved her. Instead, what came out was: “Do you hate me now?”

Dahlia could feel the pressure building behind her eyes. She looked away sharply, staring at a corner of the room like that would stop the emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

Petunia didn’t say a word for a long moment. 

The longer the silence went on the harder it was for Dahlia to hold back the tears, until finally a salty drop of water dripped down her cheek. Dahlia swiped it away fiercely with her freehand, spinning so that she could go lock herself in her room before she started bawling right there and then.

“I don’t hate you.”

Dahlia hated the way her breath hitched.

She turned back around slowly, warily.

“I don’t hate you,” Petunia repeated with a frown. Neither girl made a move.

“Then why -” Dahlia cut herself off, taking a deep breath and exhaling before continuing, “Petunia, you haven’t spoken to me in a month. I - I  _ miss _ you.”

“What’s the point?” Petunia scoffed, Dahlia felt her shoulders hunch, she forced them back, “You’re leaving. What does it matter if you leave me now or in two years? You’re still  _ leaving _ !”

“Petunia, I -”

“No! You and Lily get to go off to some magical world. The both of you are just leaving me behind and it’s _not_ _fair_.” Petunia had stood up, leaving the blanket and her book abandoned on the couch, “I don’t hate you but I wish I did! Then maybe this wouldn’t hurt so much!”

Dahlia stepped forward and pulled Petunia into a hug on instinct alone. Petunia struggled in her hold, trying to break free and leave the room. She was older and taller, but Dahlia had been following a strict exercise routine since she’d figured out how to run. Petunia didn’t stand a chance.

“I love you, Petunia,” She said into her shoulder, tightening her hold on Petunia’s arms and midsection, “I’m going to go to Hogwarts in two years but that doesn’t mean I love you any less, okay? Lily’s always had friends, but you and me? We’ve always had each other. I’m not leaving. not forever.”

Petunia slackened in her hold.

“And I mean - I was going to go to university in two years anyway.”

Petunia huffed a laugh, her arms finally coming to circle Dahlia’s waist. “I guess.”

“I’ll write.” Dahlia said, “I promise. I’ll write so much you’ll get absolutely sick of me.”

“I could never get sick of you, Dahlia.”

Dahlia pushed Petunia back slightly, just far enough that she could look her in the eyes, “So, we’re okay?”

“Yes,” Petunia smiled, Dahlia hadn’t seen that smile in months, “Yes. We’re okay.”

“Good.”

-

Things were better after that. 

Not perfect, but they were nearly back to their old selves again.

Dahlia told Petunia about her experiments in magic - she figured that Petunia wouldn’t question how she came about trying to set her own hand on fire, just chalking it up to Dahlia’s usual oddness, and she was right.

Petunia had blinked, opened her mouth, closed it, then frowned.

“This is idiotic.”

“Yeah,” Dahlia said, a lick of flame dancing between her fingers, “But it’s fun, though.”

Her sister was soon entrusted with the duty of observing and recording Dahlia’s experimentation from an outside perspective. This proved to be incredibly helpful, with Petunia’s commentary and critical eye Dahlia was able to even out her technique, learning to maintain her power even when her hands were out of her view. 

They neglected to inform their parents of this, for obvious reasons.

It was far less likely the girls would be left home alone if their parents realised that burning the house down was legitimately possible.

Lily didn’t write.

Or well, she wrote to their parents, asking them to tell her sisters that she said ‘hello!’. But she never wrote to Dahlia or Petunia directly. It wasn’t exactly surprising. Dahlia loved her sister, she’d easily step in front of a loaded gun for any of her family. But they weren’t close. 

Lily was popular. Vivacious and full of life, weird but in an interesting way. People flocked to Lily, with her vibrant hair and twinkling eyes. It wasn’t like that for Dahlia. 

She was weird too, but in a way that sort of made people uncomfortable. Dark hair, a shade of black that hadn’t been seen since her great grandma Patty, if her mother was to be believed, and a tendency to zone out for hours at a time.

Her eyes too, Dahlia had been told, were unsettling. Big and pale blue, the colour of a glacier.

Her eyes were the only part of her, besides her memories of course, that had followed her into this life. Meaning that they were the eyes of a forty year old criminal defence lawyer who’d lived through her own death and subsequent rebirth.

Yeah, Dahlia wasn’t exactly swimming in the friends department.

But she had Petunia and Mrs Brown the librarian, and she had her mum. She had Lily too, occasionally, whenever she was home.

The lack of contact wasn’t as jarring as she’d thought it would be. 

-

Before Dahlia knew it, Lily was coming home for the christmas holidays.

It was… strange.

Lily bounced into the house, clad in actual robes and a bright red scarf. She hugged Dahlia, shared a slightly tenser hug with Petunia, and then set about to help put the dinner table together. It was like she’d never left.

Their father followed her into the house, lugging her school trunk behind him. Dahlia and Petunia both went forward to kiss him on the cheek before going back to the kitchen to help Daisy finish off dinner.

“So,” Dahlia started after the silence went from comfortable to awkward, “How was school, Lily?”

“Good,” Lily beamed, and that seemed to be the opening she’d been waiting for, because Lily started talking a mile a minute. She talked about her classes and her new friends, mumbling complaints about blood-purists and ranting about James-toerag-Potter. Dahlia listened to that last bit with a bemused smile, shaking her head minutely when Petunia raised an eyebrow at her.

“-and then I managed to make the feather  _ float _ !” Lily exclaimed, finishing the end of a story about being the first in her entire charms class to get the spell right.

“That’s wonderful, darling.” Their mother said, patting Lily on the arm with a smile.

Dahlia hummed in agreement, managing to keep a polite smile on her face even though she wanted to scowl. 

Lily’s description of magic was similar to her own, but distinctly different. She described it as more of a resource, like a muscle she’d been learning to use, rather than a semi-sentient force living in her chest. Lily’s magic seemed to fall in line with what the books had described.

Petunia looked at her again and Dahlia knew she was thinking the same thing. Dahlia shook her head again. 

Dinner went off without a hitch.

Lily told more stories, complaining that she couldn’t show them any magic because the ministry places trace’s on their wands - Dahlia blinked at this, she’d honestly thought the trace was placed on the child themselves. Did that mean she’d be able to do as much magic as she wanted, as long as she didn’t use a wand? That was really a terrible system.

Petunia and Dahlia took turns filling Lily in on what she’d missed. Dahlia more so than Petunia, she was still mad at Lily, sort of. Not for the magic thing, not anymore. Petunia told Dahlia about the letter, how Lily had snooped with her friend and read it out. 

Dahlia felt she was more than justified to be a little pissy about that, but now Lily was being cold and brushing her off and Petunia was responding in kind. Dahlia wanted to groan.

Later, in Dahlia’s room, Petunia huffed. “I miss when she was still at boarding school.”

“You’re both ridiculous.”

“She looked through my things!” 

“She’s an eleven year old.”

“You’d never do that.” Petunia frowned, “And you wouldn’t do that.”

Dahlia just raised an eyebrow at her, Petunia scowled and looked away. Rolling on Dahlia’s bed so that she was lying on her stomach, Petunia leaned her head on her palms. Dahlia kicked up her legs, leaning back in her desk chair so that she could rest her feet on the edge of her bed.

“Lily’s magic isn’t like yours.” Petunia said out of nowhere.

Dahlia almost fell out of her chair.

“I know.”

She sighed, letting a little bit of power flow so she could twist fire between her fingers like it was a coin. Dahlia had seen this coming, but she couldn’t find the words to explain.

“Why?”

And there was the golden question.

Why did she have magic? Why had she been reincarnated? Why had she even  _ died _ in the first place?

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe Lily’s just doing it wrong.” Petunia said.

“Unlikely,” Dahlia let the fire flicker out, “Classes are taught with respect to wand magic. She didn’t even mention a class for the stuff I do.”

“Should we tell her?”

Dahlia mulled it over for a second, “Not yet.”

-

Dahlia didn’t tell Lily about her magic.

Not when she left for school again and not when she came back for summer.

Instead, Petunia and Dahlia holed up in her room, messing around with her powers for as long as it took to tire Dahlia out - a few times they’d even pushed it so far that Dahlia had just passed out - and then going out to spend their daily hour reading in the living room before having dinner with the rest of their family.

She’d managed to progress from fire, finally. Dahlia had been beginning to worry that fire was the only thing she’d be able to do wandlessly (well, that and healing herself of burns and blisters). Luckily working with the air was turning out to be much easier. Petunia was the one to suggest that she work with the elements before attempting anything else more complicated, Dahlia had all but jumped on that idea.

And if she decided to teach it to herself in the order of the Avatar cycle, well it’s not like anyone really questioned her motives.

On the days where Petunia went out with her friends Dahlia would spend time with whoever happened to be in the house. When it was Lily, she allowed her sister to fill the room with stories and jokes, studiously avoiding the topic of her own magic.

About halfway through summer, Dahlia managed to convince her father to let her take some taekwondo classes. She figured it would probably be a useful skill to have in the upcoming war, and if her parents thought she was finally reaching out to her peer group, that was just great too.

The classes were painful.

A lot of the core and leg conditioning were actions she’d never done before in either life, leaving her sore and achy for days afterwards. Dahlia absolutely relished in the feeling. Just like magic, learning taekwondo was brand new. It was exciting, and most of all, it was  _ fun _ .

By the time the Hogwarts supply list came around Dahlia was starting to show the beginnings of well-defined musculature and she was absolutely  _ living _ for it. Occasionally, she would just sort of… poke her own muscles. She’d caught Petunia rolling her eyes at her so much that she was worried she might strain them.

“Are you coming with this year, Dahlia?”

Dahlia looked up at Lily, “huh?”

“To get my supplies, silly!” Lily flopped down on the couch next to her, stealing a bit of the blanket, “We’re going tomorrow.”

“Uh, yeah.” Dahlia said after a moment, “Sure.”

“Great! I can show you  _ everything _ .” 

-

Diagon alley was… a lot.

The buildings were stacked in a way that  _ definitely _ wasn't CDC approved, one or two of them leaning forward into the street like they’d just tip over and crash. People walked around like this was not a concern at all, dressed in the most ridiculous fashion Dahlia had ever seen.

She shared a  _ look _ with Petunia as they crossed the threshold.

The alley was loud, too. The cobblestone paths were packed with students and families, most were likely here for the same purpose as they were. Dahlia took it all in with the air of someone who couldn’t quite believe this was actually happening.

Gringotts was grander than she’d ever imagined, with marble and gold and the whole nine yards. Her parents and Petunia were visibly uncomfortable, Lily couldn’t stop smiling. Dahlia almost tripped the first time she met the eyes of a goblin, hastily nodding her head in greeting and offering a hesitant smile.

The goblin did not smile back, but he did nod in response.

Dahlia counted it as a win.

The rest of the alley was largely uneventful. She’d already travelled to the past, technically, once. The Wizarding world was really just another few hundred years back, plus magic, she supposed.

They followed Lily around as she got measured for new robes and refilled her potion ingredient stocks. Dahlia and Petunia kept up a light conversation about their attempts to get through ‘the odyssey’ all the while. 

Eventually, they got to Flourish and Blotts at which point John and Daisy resigned themselves to loosing their youngest daughter for the rest of the day.

The second they’d stepped in Dahlia had looked around in awe before shooting her father a pleading look. The man sighed once, definitely expecting this, and dropped a small pouch of coins in her hands.

“Please don’t buy out the entire store.”

“No promises.”

The bookstore was gigantic, larger on the inside than the outside and in that same haphazard style most wizarding buildings seemed to favour. There was a staircase that cut across the middle of the shop, it would have made a grand entrance if it wasn’t placed just four inches short of the middle. 

Dahlia couldn’t work out the system in which the books had been placed, but it seemed that the general rule of thumb was that if you found one potions book, the surrounding books were also likely to be about potions. Of course, there were also roughly ten clumps of books for each subject and Dahlia had practically resigned herself to having to go through it all.

Lily finished her book shopping within twenty minutes, Dahlia just waved them away.

“I’ll meet you at the leaky cauldron in two hours.”

“Dahlia.” Her father frowned, “We can’t just leave you here by yourself.”

Dahlia didn’t even lift her gaze from the title page of the book in her hands, “Petunia will stay.”

She knew her sister was shrugging and nodding without looking up.

John sighed, “I - fine.”

Dahlia did look up then, shooting a father a grin, “Thanks dad.”

He ruffled her hair, ignoring the offended squeak, “You know you’d have done it with or without my approval.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

John rolled his eyes but left her be, dragging Lily and Daisy with him.

“So,” Petunia said, “What now?”

Dahlia shrugged, “I’m literally going to be doing this for like two hours, you can leave if you want.”

“Please, you’d probably set the entire store on fire if I left you alone.”

“I resent that statement,” Dahlia huffed, eyes darting around the large store before returning to Petunia’s unimpressed ones. “Ugh, fine. Just… help me gather books? Anything that mentions magical theory - or, oh! Runes,  _ those _ are interesting.”

Petunia nodded and wandered off to another section of the shop, Dahlia turned back to the book in hand, a leatherbound book detailing the etiquette of the wizarding elite, and tried not to groan.

She’d known, of course, that this was a possibility. The purebloods called themselves ‘Lords’ and ‘Ladies’, of fucking course they had ettiquite rules and proper manners and whatever. 

She could just ignore this stuff - but that would alienate possible allies among the more sympathetic traditionalists. And, Dahlia was guessing half the reason those purebloods treated muggleborns like peasants was because they  _ behaved _ like peasants. Fucking traditionalism.

Dahlia shoved the book into her shopping basket.

In any case, whether she elected to follow the etiquette guidelines or ignore them, it was always better to know the rules -  _ especially _ if you planned to break them.

The next two hours crawled by in a haze of reading the first couple of pages of every book because _of_ _course_ wizards couldn’t be bothered to put blurbs on the backs of their books. She’d managed to find three promising books on magical theory, two from her own exploration and the other from Petunia’s suggestion pile, and a beginners guide to runes, as well as another book on wizarding traditions and holidays. 

Her total added up to fifteen galleons and ten sickles, a price she wasn’t even going to attempt to convert to pounds. 

The man at the teller grinned when he rang up her books.

“Little young to be heading to Hogwarts, ain’t ya?”

“My sister’s in her second year, I’ll be going next year.”

The man nodded in understanding, “Wizarding etiquette?”

“I figure it’s probably best to learn it,” Dahlia shrugged, “Don’t want to accidentally make a mortal enemy or something.”

He chuckled, “The term is ‘start a blood feud’, lass.” He shoved the last book into a magically enlarged carrier bag, “And I reckon you’ll do just fine. Been awhile since a muggleborn took an interest in all this.”

Dahlia smiled and thanked him, throwing the bag over her shoulder and taking a quick look around the shop to locate Petunia. Dahlia spotted her reading a book about enchantment by the entrance.

“Ready to go?” Petunia asked when she came up to her.

“Yep.” She gestured to the bag, “Got it all right here.”

“Right then, I’m pretty sure we were supposed to meet dad twenty minutes ago.”

Dahlia looked at her watch, “Shit.”

-

“You could have been dead -”

“We were at a  _ bookstore _ dad, you’re being ridiculous -”

“A half hour, I mean  _ honestly _ .”

“We lost track of time, it wasn’t -”

“I’m never leaving you alone again.”

“Oh come on!”

-

Lily left for Hogwarts again and before the year was even halfway through Dahlia had managed to nearly give herself hypothermia, suck all the air out of the room (multiple times), and bury herself up to her waist in the backyard.

Petunia had, over the past few months, gotten particularly good at digging her out of holes, metaphorically and literally.

“Dahlia,” Petunia huffed, “You are going to lose a limb.”

Dahlia looked down at her left leg. The bottom of her foot was blue, and she couldn’t feel the rest of her leg.

“I was trying to freeze the floor.”

Petunia kneeled in front of her, covering the top portion of her leg with a heat pack. “And how, pray tell, did you manage to freeze your  _ leg _ ?”

“Well,” Dahlia said, pushing her magic through the stiff bit of her knee, “My leg was on the floor.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m a certified genius.”

Petunia snorted, “Academically.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” The magic was always stubborn with the cold, it seemed to dislike it just as much as Dahlia did. 

“Just because you  _ know _ how to make ice come out of your hands,” Petunia frowned, “that doesn’t mean you know how to use it  _ appropriately _ .”

“Shut up.”

“Can you even feel your toes?”

“Sorta.” Dahlia smacked her foot against the bedpost, “No. Still numb.”

Petunia snorted, “Idiot.”

“I can feel my thigh, though.” Dahlia pointed out, “That’s an improvement.”

-

As it happened, Dahlia did not lose her foot to frostbite. Or her arm, or her other leg. 

In fact, over the coming months Dahlia managed to perfect the art of almost dying and/or losing a limb, or two. When she wasn’t studying for her final exams or hanging around the dojo, Dahlia was messing around with magic that she really shouldn’t be messing with - at least, not without backup.

But if she wanted to wait she’d be waiting another year and a half at least.

And, well, patience had never been Dahlia’s forte.

The social etiquette, which Petunia had insisted on helping her with, was a pain in the fucking ass. Magic was a delightful distraction from learning the different ways to sit, or the meaning of holding a book to your cheek versus against your chest. But she could only ever procrastinate so far before Petunia came at her with that bloody leatherbound book.

“Lily never learnt any of this shit.” Dahlia grumbled one afternoon.

“Yes,” Petunia said, “But Lily could charm the socks off the prime minister if she wanted to.”

“That’s completely unfair.”

“Life’s unfair. Sit up straight.” Then Petunia smacked her with the book and they got back to walking practice.

Dahlia had also taken to studying Lily’s first year books. They were mostly dense, extremely theory heavy and written in more of a story-telling format than in an instructional sort of way. It was worse than reading scientific papers, at least those had  _ some _ structure to them.

Other than that, the only interesting thing that had changed was that Lily started writing to them.

One letter for their parents, and one for Dahlia and Petunia. 

The letter’s were always short, just bits of Hogwarts gossip and whatever Lily had thought about that week. But it was nice. Almost like getting to know their sister all over again.

Dahlia still didn’t feel totally comfortable letting Lily know about her magical experimentation but…

Maybe she would be, one day.

She had a whole half a decade at Hogwarts with her sister to figure it out, if the owl sitting by her window was anything to go by.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Say hi on tumblr: [negligiblyfae](http://negligiblyfae.tumblr.com)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on tumblr: negligiblyfae


	3. dying doesn't make you bloodthirsty that's just her natural setting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dahlia settles into Hogwarts, it's a painful experience for various people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think i have an unhealthy attachment to this fic and I'm not sorry. Okay i'm a little sorry for neglecting my other fics to write this but i love Dahlia so. Anyway, here's the next chapter.  
> The time covered is only really the sorting ceremony through to Dahlia's first christmas holiday. the next chapter will probably span at least three years.  
> Thanks for reading!!  
> Love,  
> IdeasOfMarch

Dahlia had had years, at this point, to accept the absolute absurdity that seemed to be commonplace in her life. She’d come to terms with reincarnation, not-so-fictional universes, magic. Even still - Dahlia was not prepared to actually _see_ Hogwarts.

As a child, the first time, the wizarding world had always been something of a fascinating concept, albeit one that didn’t particularly infatuate Dahlia. She liked the books well enough, and watched the movies whenever she happened to catch one on TV. 

She was a casual fan.

Out of the two of them, Dahlia thought it probably should have been Melanie who ended up in this situation. Her sister had practically memorised the books, and she wasn’t half as reckless as Dahlia was. Of course, that would mean Melanie would have had to die and - no. Just, no. 

Dahlia missed her sister, and she missed her mothers, but it was preferable to imagine them as yet to be. There was at least 20 years before Melanie would even be born, and if her mothers existed in this world they’d be children themselves right now.

It was easier.

Better for Dahlia's mental health in any case.

She’d kept a diary, every year since she’d first picked up a pen. Stupid jokes and every other little, inconsequential thought she’d have wanted to share with her first family. Maybe one day she’d even give it to them (if magic was possible, Dahlia wasn’t going to rule _anything_ out). In later years she’d taken to asking the dairy questions about magic she just knew Melanie would have known the answers to, along with little notes about the most interesting parts of her other journal.

There, sitting on a wobbling little boat with three strangers, staring up at the castle - Dahlia itched to write everything she was feeling in that diary.

It was magnificent, more so than Lily or the books had ever really said. The movies hadn’t done it justice either. Hogwarts stood tall and looming against the night sky, even blanketed by the dark Dahlia could still make out a clear outline. It was almost as if the edges shimmered, like something that didn’t exactly belong in its environment - irrevocably _there_ , and yet separated from the natural.

And maybe Dahlia really _was_ drinking too much coffee for her eleven year old body - if she was feeling kinship with a castle.

“Whoa.” The kid beside her muttered under his breath.

Dahlia couldn’t help but nod along with the statement. ‘Whoa’ was not an adequate description of the moment, but it was all her brain could come up with. 

The boat started moving again, on towards the castle where she would be sorted by a magical talking hat. Dahlia took a deep, shaking breath. Everything hinged on these next seven years and Dahlia had absolutely no plan whatsoever.

Okay, she had a vague outline that went something like: Collect Horcruxes, destroy Horcruxes, don’t let Lily or James die, don’t let Sirius end up in prison. Other than that, however, she had nothing.

The boat rocked as it hit the shore and the two kids in front of her hopped off and Dahlia made to stand up before promptly tumbling right into the water.

Of course. She could swing a purple belt in taekwondo in half a summer but gods forbid she try to stand up on a boat. Thank god practically everybody was already walking way, no one was entirely concerned with her little dip in the lake.

“Are you alright?” The boy who’d sat next to her asked, leaning over the boat to peer at her drenched form.

Dahlia moved the mop of dark hair out of her face before grinning pleasantly, “Oh I’m doing absolutely peachy, thank you for asking.”

The boy nodded, “Do you… need some help?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say no.”

The boy stepped off the boat with effortless grace, Dahlia kind of wanted to punch him for it, before reaching down. Dahlia huffed, grabbed his hand and hauled herself out of the water.

Dahlia smiled, twisting the end of her skirt to get some of the lake water out, “Thanks and, uh, Merry Meet.”

The boy nodded.

“Merry Meet.” He said, “Are you cold?”

“Incredibly so, I hate the cold.” Dahlia muttered with a sigh, she pushed her magic out but, of course, it stubbornly refused to move out through the icy cold in her fingers and toes. “Just give me a moment.”

Slowly but surely, the warmth migrated back into her extremities and her clothes dried out.

“You… you’re dry.”

“Yep.” Dahlia said, then, “Fuck. Should not have done that.”

“You didn’t use a wand.”

Dahlia winced, “Any chance you’ll keep that on the down low?”

The boy blinked, “The what?”

“Just - ugh. Don’t tell anyone about this?”

The boy frowned, pausing for a moment before nodding slowly, “Alright, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Cool, so -”

“ _If_ ,” The boy said, and Dahlia groaned, this kid was going to be a snake for sure, “You teach me.”

Dahlia shook out her boot that was still a little damp, nodding her agreement. “I’m Dahlia Evans, by the way.”

“Oh, er.” The boy stumbled slightly over his words for the first time, he almost tripped over a stone as well. Dahlia grabbed his shoulder, easily steadying him. He coughed once. “I forgot to introduce myself.”

She laughed lightly, “What’s your name, then?”

“Regulus. Regulus Black. Pleasure to meet you Evans.”

-

_What do we have here?_

Dahlia paused, then deliberately thought, _Hello._

 _Dahlia Aster/Evans,_ the hat boomed in her head. Both of her last names bounced off each other, said at once and echoing in tandem. _It has been far too long since I’ve had the pleasure to sort a soul such as yours._

_You’ve seen other reincarnated souls, then?_

_Oh yes, you lot used to be quite common a few hundred years ago._ The hat hummed and Dahlia got the distinct feeling that it - he? - was rifling through her memories. 

She wondered if the hat found it odd that her memories dated back to years that haven't happened yet.

 _The passage of time is not so linear as you humans like to believe. I’ve seen souls thrown back centuries, and forward the same._ Dahlia startled in her seat before she remembered that the hat could, and was, literally reading her mind. _Though I will say your case is rather… unique._

_What do you mean?_

_Your soul belongs to a different dimension entirely. That, my dear, is new. Even for me._

_Well,_ Dahlia thought _, that’s just great. I’m not going to get into any trouble for that, am I?_

 _If the wrong people found out, certainly. But worry not - this little conversation will remain between us. I only caution you to be careful whom you trust with this information_.

 _If I have it my way,_ she scoffed underneath her breath, _nobody will ever know._

 _Good_ . the hat huffed. _Smart girl. Now, let’s get you sorted._

-

_Mr Hat, are you insane?_

_Undoubtedly, dear childe._

_You let Harry pick his house._

_That version of me does not exist yet, and I sincerely doubt it ever will. You will do well there._

_But I also might die._

_With what you’ve got planned, Miss Aster/Evans, I do believe your life would be at risk regardless._

_That doesn’t mean I want to increase the risk!_

_Strategically speaking, this is the best move you could possibly make._

_I hate you._

_You’ll thank me in ten years, Childe._

The sorting hat cleared it’s ‘throat’. It had been fourteen minutes since it had been placed on Dahlia’s head, which placed her as the longest hatstall in recorded history. Nearly everyone in the room listened in to see where she’d be sorted.

“Better be… SLYTHERIN!” 

-

Dahlia lasted nearly a whole fifteen minutes.

Which, all things considered, is quite impressive.

Silence was never her strong suit anyway.

“Are you all mute?”

The girl closest to her shuffled an inch further down the bench, shooting Dahlia a look like the very act of her existence was scandalising. The rest of the first year Slytherins glanced at her before going back to eating their meals silently. Two seats down, Regulus Black looked away and muffled a snort into his shoulder.

Dahlia refrained from rolling her eyes, but only barely.

“Fine, I’ll start.” She huffed, sticking her hand out her hand in the general direction of her peers; palm down with her fingers relaxed - just like the book said. “Dahlia Jane Evans. Merry Meet.”

For a moment, nobody moved. The pureblooded snakes stared at her hand like they were debating whether or not touching her would give them magical herpes. 

“Merry Meet, Evans.” A hand grasped hers, a thumb below her index finger - the standard greeting for someone of a lower class, which was really the best she was hoping for at this point, “Regulus Arcturus Black.”

Despite the fact that they’d already met, Dahlia recognised the fact that Regulus was throwing her a bone here with the formal introduction. She nodded her head, subtly and just once, in thanks.

“Amelia Callidora Parkinson. Merry Meet.” The girl sitting directly across from her tentatively offered her hand. She was gorgeous, or at least she would be in a couple of years. Dahlia was beginning to think that all purebloods were simply blessed with flawless skins and killer cheekbones.

Dahlia gripped her wrist lightly and she had to fight a grin when Amelia eyed her with approval and returned the gesture for female equals.

Thank _you_ , wizarding etiquette books.

Soon enough the rest of the first years were muttering their greetings and offering Dahlia their hands, she experiences roughly seven different variations of a simple handshake before they’re finally finished and begin to have light conversation over their food.

A more comfortable atmosphere slowly settles over the first years and, by the time dessert is being served, Dahlia had managed to make Amelia laugh so hard pumpkin juice came right out her nose. The poor girl looked horrified and her expression alone was enough to send Dahlia into her own fit of laughter.

“I’m sorry, Parkinson.” Dahlia managed through her giggles.

“Amelia.” She said, though it came out all muffled through the handkerchief she had pressed to her nose, “I think you can call me Amelia, after that.”

“Alright then,” Dahlia could feel a slow smile spreading across her face. Amelia’s face didn’t change, but her eyes were lit up with the quiet kind of mischief Dahlia was more accustomed to seeing on Petunia’s face. 

Amelia had not only declared Dahlia her equal, but she’d also just publicly claimed her as a friend. All in one night. This was… a surprising turn of events, to say the least. Dahlia had expected it to be months, weeks at best, before she was even on speaking terms with the rest of her house.

Granted, she’d expected to be sorted into ravenclaw, possibly even gryffindor, and then having to wiggle her way into slytherin through sheer perseverance.

Dahlia glanced over at the gryffindor table where Lily was desperately trying to catch her eye. She sighed.

“I have to go.” She muttered, “Excuse me, Ladies, gentlemen, Amelia.”

“Where are you going?” Regulus asked as she swung her legs out from under the table.

“My sister,” She tilted her head towards the table, where Lily was now subtly (for a lion) motioning for her to get over there, “I think she might have a heart attack if I don’t go see what she wants.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. Dahlia privately thought the gesture looked misplaced on a scrawny eleven year old kid, no matter how finely made his robes were. She supposed it was just something he’d have to grow into.

Dahlia shook her head slightly before making her way over to Lily.

“Dahlia!”

“Lily.” She said as her sister practically pulled her onto the bench by her side. “You summoned me?”

“Are you alright?” Within ten seconds, Lily had attached herself to Dahlia’s side, ignoring the looks they were getting from at least fifty percent of the room.

Dahlia rolled her eyes, “Lily, they aren’t going to murder me yet. Honestly, I’d kinda like to see them try.”

“You have a death wish.”

Dahlia popped a grape into her mouth, “Kinda.”

“Then what are you doing in the snake den!?”

“Because,” She said with a frown, “The stupid hat has even less regard for my safety than I do.”

“You’re going to give me grey hair.”

Dahlia snorted, stealing another grape. If Lily knew even half the shit Dahlia got up to with Petunia.

She had just opened her mouth to reply when an arm slid around her shoulder. Dahlia tilted her head sideways to see a grinning boy that looked startlingly similar to Regulus. Just a little broader, and a lot taller.

“A Black, I presume.” His hand was heavy on her shoulder and he was leaning into her lazily. Dahlia, usually, enjoyed physical contact - but she’d just met Sirius. Hadn’t even gotten his name, officially anyways, “Get off.”

The boy grinned, “An Evans, I presume.” He parotted.

“Get your hands off my sister, Black.” Lily cut in.

“Or what, Evans?” He smirked. Dahlia shook her shoulder slightly, testing his grip. It was a light hold, he was barely putting an effort into gripping her despite his show. He was just playing around, then. “you’re going to curse me?”

“No.” She said, “But Dahlia will probably dislocate your shoulder.”

“Yeah right - Ow!”

Dahlia smiled sweetly at him, gripping his wrist tightly behind her and holding his arm about two degrees short of being unbearably painful.

“You should listen when a girl says no, Black.”

“Okay, okay, _okay_.” Dahlia let him go and he snatched his hand back with a grin that was even wider than before, “You’re terrifying.”

“Thank you.” Dahlia smiled again.

“Well,” Lily said after a moment, “At least I know you’ll be fine in the dungeons.”

“Can I go now?” Dahlia said.

“Hold on a minute, Dahlia. I want to introduce you to my friends.”

Dahlia sighed, nodding slightly.

“This is Dorcas,” Lily pointed to a pretty girl with a mass of dark girls, “And this is Marlene,” A blonde girl waved at her, Dahlia waved back, “Mary,” The girl sitting next to Marlene smiled, “And this is Alice.” The brunette girl next to Lily nodded.

“Nice to meet you guys.”

Someone coughed to Lily’s side and her sister sighed before motioning at a group of boys. “And that’s James, Peter, and Remus. You already know Sirius.”

“Nice to meet you Little Evans.” A messy haired boy with a shit eating grin smiled at her and Dahlia had to admit - she was slightly unnerved by him. Like recognises like - Dahlia knew herself well enough to admit she had a few screws loose, and there was this _look_ in James Potter’s eyes.

“Okay, I’m leaving now.” Dahlia said with a decisive nod - some of that famed Slytherin self preservation finally kicking in, “I honestly think I’m safer over at the snake table. Bye Lily, bye Lily’s friends.”

As she made her way back to her house table she heard Lily smack Potter over the head for: “Scaring off my sister, you toe-rag!”

-

Lily didn’t know what house Dahlia was going to go into.

Well, that was a lie. 

She had _thought_ she knew.

She’d thought Dahlia, her certified genius of a little sister, would be a shoe-in for Ravenclaw. Lily hadn’t even considered Slytherin.

Her little sister had always been something of an enigma to Lily. Two years younger than her but Dahlia had been talking in full, grammatically correct sentences since before Lily could properly use the toilet. She’d always just seemed untouchable to Lily, blasting through school like it was easy and juggling half a dozen other special random projects as she did it. 

It had always left something of a bitter taste in Lilys mouth, the way Petunia and their mum just got Dahlia. The way they could understand and anticipate her oddities in a way Lily had never quite figured out how to do. Their father, at least, was similar to Lily in regard to their bafflement at Dahlia.

So she stayed out. She made friends at school and hung out with Severus and avoided the house. It was fine, it was all just fine. She loved Dahlia, but she could just do it from afar - like their father did.

It wasn’t until she went away to school and came home to a family she didn’t recognise anymore did she realise that the distance between them… it was probably her fault.

Her parents were the same, still disgustingly in love and full of cheesy jokes and early morning dances in the kitchen while breakfast burned in the background - the bloody apocalypse couldn’t change John and Daisy Evans, but Petunia and Dahlia were closer than ever. Lily was boxed out in a way she never had been before, like she was welcome in the household, but not a part of it.

She didn’t get the inside jokes, didn’t get to hear the whispered conversation between her sisters at the dinner table, didn’t get invited to hang out in Dahlia’s room every other night.

So Lily tried to mend a relationship she hadn’t even noticed was languishing for the past ten years. And it worked, sort of. 

If she’d explained the house system to her, Petunia probably would have predicted Dahlia’s placement in Slytherin.

Lily spent half the evening after her sister’s sorting terrified. Scared that the snakes were going to curse Dahlia right in the middle of the great hall for having the audacity to be one of them. She watched as the entire first year sat stock still, eating mechanically and avoiding Dahlia like the plague.

And she was watching close enough to see the exact moment Dahlia rolled her eyes and stuck out her hand.

“Oh Merlin.” Lily murmured, watching as a boy took her sister’s hand for a moment before letting go.

“Oi Evans!” Sirius Black bumped her shoulder from where he was sitting beside her, she glanced over for a second before turning back to her sister.

“Looks like we’re going to be in-laws.”

“What?” She scrunched her brows in confusion.

“My brother,” He said, pointing to the boy who had shaken Dahlia’s hand, “He likes your sister.”

“She’s going to get herself killed.” Lily muttered, mostly to herself, but Sirius scoffed anyway.

“She’ll be fine. Look.” He pointed at Dahlia, who was now gripping wrists with a dark haired girl. “Amelia Parkinson just greeted her as an equal.”

“What?” Lily frowned again and Sirius sighed.

“It’s pureblood etiquette, your sister did her homework I guess.”

“Oh my god,” Lily said, a well researched Dahlia was a dangerous Dahlia, “She’s going to die.”

Later, when Dahlia finally caught wind of Lily’s frantic signals and came over, Lily was swiftly reminded of why she’d never really felt that famed protective older sibling instinct. Dahlia was capable, terrifyingly so, of defending herself. 

She always had been. 

As the weeks passed in Hogwarts Lily kept track of her sister. They sent weekly letters home with the same owl. Lily’s letters to their parents were considerably longer than her ones to Petunia, for Dahlia the opposite was true. She made sure to corner Dahlia into having dinner with her at least once a week, usually on a Saturday or a Sunday.

Slowly, Dahlia’s shell began to crack.

She began telling Lily about her classes, the bigots that made daily living unnecessarily annoying. Lily learnt that Dahlia actually dislikes milk chocolate and most sweet treats, preferring fruit based candy and tarts. She learnt that despite her love of literature Dahlia had many strong, unsavory opinions on every single classic and that, if given the opportunity, Dahlia could rant for hours on end about this topic.

Lily figured out that her sister was brilliant, yes, but lacked the common sense required to watch where she was going and not walk right off the platform when the moving staircases were absent. Lily had since mastered the art of clearing Dahlia’s path and walking half a step ahead of her whenever they were together. 

She worried, often, about Dahlia’s place in Slytherin. From what Lily gathered she only had two friends in the house, and they’d both become almost as big of outcasts as Dahlia herself. She seemed happy enough, most of the time, but still - Lily worried.

Somehow, between the start of the school year and the week before Christmas Holidays, Lily became a big sister.

It was nice.

Lily’s only real concern was her sister's truly frightening relationship with the self-proclaimed marauders.

She’d only observed their interactions a couple of times, but every single one struck real fear into her heart - a sentiment she was sure Sirius’s brother shared, if the long suffering look he sported every time was anything to go by.

Lily had simply vowed to stay out of it, mostly.

She wanted nothing at all to do with James Potter and if Dahlia wanted to be friends with him then that was her prerogative. 

Nobody had to know about the detailed description she’d given of just what she'd do to each and every marauder if they in any way hurt her sister.

-

“Bloody fuck.” Dahlia muttered under her breath, fighting a wince as the stinging hex wrapped around her left leg. She took a deep breath, sent her magic towards the aching limb, and stood with narrowed eyes. “Lestrange, I know that was you.”

“And what if it was, little Evans?” The boy in question was lounged on the couch in the common room, surrounded by his friends like a king on a particularly lavish throne. “Black and Parkinson aren’t here to protect you.”

Dahlia wanted to rip her hair out of her skull.

She’d been dealing with this prick and his goons for nearly the entire year and she was just about sick of them. Fucking sixteen year old jackasses who thought it was funny to send curses at an eleven year old. 

She’d been hexed almost every single time she’d walked into the common room as well as anytime they could catch her alone in the halls. Her belongings were perpetually missing unless she put all of it away in her warded trunk. And her food was sabotaged. _Food_.

The professors practically adored Dahlia. By the end of the first week most of them were eating out of the palm of her hand thanks to her sheer intelligence and basic grasp on essay structuring. She’d made friends all throughout the school - none of them particularly close, but all good enough to pass time in a boring class or two with.

Her popularity, however, was null and void in the snake den by virtue of her birth status.

Dicks.

Amelia and Regulus were advocates of taking the high road, or the Slytherin version of it anyway. Collect blackmail and use it against them when they were sitting on the wizengamot. They’d cautioned her against fighting back, especially in public. Her reputation would probably never recover from a full blown duel with the scions of the sacred 28.

But… The second rule of Slytherin.

Right underneath rule number one, all Slytherins shall present a united front to the student body, was Dahlia’s new favourite rule: What happens in the common room, _stays_ in the common room.

Every damn snake ever sorted was under oath to respect rule number two.

Lestrange sneered, probably taking her silence for an admission of weakness, and Dahlia felt a smirk growing on her face.

“You thought they were protecting me?” She heard herself ask. She twirled her wand between her fingers, letting the magic pool just above her wrists. Lestrange sat up slowly, a concerned frown tugging at his lips. “Oh _honey_.” She murmured. “I challenge you to a duel.”

“Right now?” The older boy scoffed, “You’re a first year.”

“You didn’t seem to mind when you sent a bone breaking curse at my hip last week.”

The common room went quiet and Dahlia tilted her head at him.

“I see you didn’t share that achievement with the class.” She stage-whispered, then turned to their growing audience, “For those of you wondering. Yes, Lestrange really did break my hip with a curse last week, at the top of the staircases no less. I suppose I can also thank you for the concussion, broken rib, and temporary hearing loss.”

Most of the room looked uncomfortable, which was Dahlia’s goal.

“So come on, Lestrange.” She spat out his last name the same way he often said hers, “you were alright with almost murdering a firstie last week, this is tame in comparison. Unless… are you scared?”

Lestrange scoffed, “I’m not scared of you - and that’s the oldest trick in the book.” His face was red though, leaning towards purple.

“It’s effective.” Dahlia shrugged, “Either fight me, right here, right now, or everyone’s going to know you were too scared you’d lose to an eleven year old.”

“I’m not fighting a kid.”

“Lestrange,” Dahlia snorted, “Your honor is not in question here, we’ve already established you have none.”

“Why you little -”

“I challenge you to a duel, Rabastan Lestrange. Do you accept, or do you forfeit?”

“I accept, you mudblooded bitch.”

Dahlia smiled, it wasn’t a nice one. “Anyone want to referee?”

Lestrange jerked his head and one of his mates stepped forward hesitantly, “I - I’ll do it.”

Dahlia and Lestrange both stared at the boy for a moment before he realised he was supposed to be speaking.

“Right!” The boy said, finally. “Evans, your terms?”

“If I win, Regulus, Amelia, my sister and I are untouchables for the rest of our time at Hogwarts. You will not hex us in the hallways, you will not plot against us or poison our food - and you will not allow any of your friends to come after us either. And you will refrain from calling me a mudblood to my face.”

The boy coughed when Dahlia stopped speaking, “And Rabastan?”

“You’re asking for a lot, _mudblood_ .” He said with an ugly smirk, “When I win, you will follow my every command for the rest of our time at Hogwarts. If I tell you to fetch us our dinner, you will. If I tell you to do all our class work, you will. If I tell you to sleep on the cold, hard floor outside the common room, you _will_.”

“Do you both accept these terms?”

“Yes.” They chorused.

“Any restrictions?” The boy asked after a long pause.

“None.” Lestrange replied before Dahlia could open her mouth. “Anything goes.”

“Anything?” Dahlia said dubiously.

“Anything. Unless… _you’re_ too scared to follow though.”

Dahlia paused for a second before nodding slowly, “Alright then. Anything goes. First person unconscious loses.”

“Deal.” Lestrange growled.

“Um, alright. Take your places.” Lestrange’s friends said, “I will count down from five, and then the duel shall commence. Five…”

Dahlia and Lestrange circled each other, someone had put up a shield separating them from the spectators, leaving an empty rectangular space for the duel to take place.

“Four…”

Lestrange was about a foot taller than her, but his posture wasn’t upright - not when he was dueling anyway. Dahlia would probably be able to clip him in the face with a roundhouse kick if she got close enough.

“Three…”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Regulus and Amelia enter the room. Amelia frowned when she saw Dahlia in her dueling stance, Regulus just smacked his face into his palm in the most undignified move Dahlia had ever seen him make.

“Two…”

Lestrange was definitely going to go straight for the heavy hitters. He was eyeing her right side with a single minded intensity that had her placing a subtle reinforcement to the shield charm on her left side.

“One…”

Dahlia eyed him one last time. His feet were too close together and his knees were straight, a kick would likely throw him completely off balance. And wouldn’t it be a nice touch to knock that bigoted idiot out with a punch.

“Go!”

Lestrange through a purple hex she didn’t recognise to her left. Dahlia let it hit her, enjoying the shock that painted itself over Lestrange’s face. He fired again, but Dahlia simply stepped out of the way each time, slowly working on getting herself closer before she started shooting off silent little hexes.

She’d made the spell herself, a delayed hex that attached itself to the nearest joint, sapping away at your own natural magic before sucking all the cartilage out of the joint socket. And boom! Instant arthritis.

Of course, she had to push it out through her hand, the spell would probably make her wand explode, so she masked it by sending out two quick stinging hexes, with the cartilage removal spell between them. The bright yellow of the stinging hex hid the dull green of her new spell quite well, and Dahlia managed to send at least seven arthritis curses Lestrange’s way before the first one activated.

By some stroke of luck, the hex caused Lestrange’s right elbow to burst into pain - if the shocked scream and dropping of his wand was anything to go by.

On instinct, Lestrange reached for his wand before groaning at the pain his movement caused.

Dahlia grinned, stepping forward before using her momentum to send her foot right into Lestrange's jaw. She would have aimed for the nose, but going down for murder wasn’t exactly in the cards for her any time soon.

The boy’s head snapped backwards, his entire body following after. He made to push himself back up, but the hexes must have all activated by now and every movement caused him to seize with pain.

Dahlia would have left it there. She’d clearly won, but they’d stated the end point of this duel was unconsciousness.

She followed him down to the floor, punching him once on either cheek before he finally fell down with a loud thump.

He didn’t get back up.

“Well,” Dahlia said after a moment, standing up and dusting off her skirt, “I win.”

Nobody moved or said a word.

“Is anybody going to help him?” She asked, “I definitely broke something.” Dahlia looked over at Lestrange’s slumped form, “Multiple somethings.”

That, at least, seemed to break them out of their stunned silence. 

A group of sixth years rushed forwards, collecting Lestrange before hurrying out of the common room, presumably towards the infirmary. She idly wondered what kind of story they’d come up with to explain all this.

“Dahlia, what the fuck?”

She blinked, “Did you just swear?”

Regulus frowned incredulously at her, “That is not the point you should be focusing on.”

“He’s right, Dahlia.” Amelia said, “You just beat him into a bloody pulp.”

“And I gave him early onset arthritis.” Dahlia added.

“And you gave him early onset - wait _what_?!”

Dahlia smirked at her friends, “Why do you think he dropped his wand?”

“I don’t bloody know.” Regulus threw his hands up in the air, “Maybe we assumed you disarmed him, like a normal first year student.”

“To be fair, I did disarm him.”

“You gave him,” Regulus took a deep breath here, “Arthritis. At sixteen.

”Yeah.” Dahlia didn’t even feel bad about it. Next time, she’d make it permanent.

Amelia sighed. “Do we even want to know how?”

“Probably not.”

“Alright, then.” She sighed, “What did you win?”

Dahlia smiled, a real smile for the first time all evening, “We, my friends, are officially free.”

“What does that mean?” Regulus asked, but he was smiling.

“No more hexes and curses, no more poisoned food, all of it is over. For the next two years at least, though I doubt anyone will try anything ever again regardless of my winning conditions.” 

“Damn right they won’t.” Amelia muttered.

Regulus didn’t say anything for a moment, then “This is amazing!” he leaped forward and dragged both Amelia and Dahlia into a hug.

It seemed Dahlia had finally worn Regulus down into acting like an actual human being in public spaces.

“We’re free.” He said, sort of a reverent whisper.

“We’re free.” She echoed back.

“Finally,” Amelia grinned, “My legs were getting sore from all the hexes.”

  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?  
> Thank you for reading !! <33

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr: negligiblyfae  
> come say hi :)


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